@anthonyscribbles
The town of my birth is as small as when I left. That was twenty years ago, and the tales of “shamans” in Alazco still linger on the lips of the country.
As a girl, I believed in them, more than anything because of my neighbor, Don Leo. We all feared his gaze; his misery and resentment were palpable whenever we passed by his house. Once, when my dad wasn’t home, Don Leo knocked on our door; I thought he’d come to eat us. It didn’t help that my mom refused to open the door, and told Maya and I to hush.
There’s movement in the trees. I turn to look, but the night is a friend to whatever’s there. I tighten my grip on the machete until my fingers hurt. I’m capable of defending myself.
When we arrived from the airport, the reunion with my family happened amidst tears and hugs—especially once my sister arrived. My parents regaled us with the all the new gossip: whole families that had also immigrated, classmates we hadn’t thought about since we were kids, people who still lived here, and others who’d passed away, who we’d never be able to see again.
A shadow jumps from one tree to another; I follow it with my eyes. It throws something, but I duck to the side. It wants to kill me with mameys. The figure circles me, jumping trees like a monkey, but I know better than to run. I start screaming at it to face me like a man. There’s a howl, and it hucks another fruit.
I sat my parents down at the table with my sister at my side. The time had come to tell them that I met someone in Arizona. Maya knew, but I still hadn’t had the courage to tell them. Mami still thought of us as her little girls, and not being there with us worried her sick.
Because of that, I hadn’t told her much about the bad in my life: my first boyfriend, the neighbor who comes home drunk every night. Nor had I told her about the good: my twenty-first birthday, when I went out with my friends and met my fiancé for the first time.
But I had told my sister.
With a crash, the shadow jumps to the metallic roof of a house. The noise scares me, but I feign courage. For the first time, the figure reveals itself, covered in thick, dark fur. It starts to rain, and the animal crawls to the edge of the roof.
Between heavy drops of rain and a blue flash of lightning, I see the face of a chimp staring at me with a searing look.
Mami was delighted by the news, as was Papá. Hugs and joyful tears accompanied thousands of questions about him: how we met, what he does, and if we live together.
When I showed them photos, Mami asked if I remember Manny Cruz. I told her I do, but I didn’t understand why she mentioned him.
The Mico chases me to the center of town; I run through quiet, empty streets. I hear the thunder of its paws on rooftops, the thud of mameys that keep falling around me. Its shrieks grow distant as I flee with all my might, but I know the animal still follows. With each step, my breath weakens, until I’m in the jungle that surrounds the town.
Another mamey hits the ground, and for a moment, I see a hairy hand in the treetop. There, two eyes shimmer with moonlight, still watching me.
Manny Cruz was a boy who had a crush on me. He only told me once, but it was so obvious that the whole school—the whole town—knew. It was the only time that I allowed him to walk me home. He took me on “the scenic route:” behind the church, where they buried people, and by the creek that’s on the other side of my house. I can’t pretend he wasn’t handsome, but for some reason, I felt uncomfortable beside him.
Before reaching my house, Manny stopped me and asked if I was going to leave. I played dumb, because no one was supposed to know that my parents planned to send Maya and I to the U.S. With nothing else to say, I told him I was. His face turned grave, and he grabbed my hand. He asked me for it. There, alone in the jungle, Manny Cruz asked me to marry him. I tore my hand from his, and ran away, shouting that I wouldn’t.
That was the last time I ever saw Manny Cruz.
It dismounts the tree. We’ve crossed the creek, transformed into a raging river with the sky’s water. The Mico has a mamey in its paw. I have a machete, cured with holy water, garlic, rue, and a handkerchief in mine. Somewhere, lightning falls, but we don’t care.
The beast hurls its last mamey at me, but with poor aim, and I charge with the machete. It’s more agile than it looks; I can’t even touch it. With blackened nails it scratches my arms, trying to bite my neck like a vampire. With my leg, I push the Mico into the mud, and it pounces from the ground, falling onto me. It pins me down between four paws, suddenly still with an open mouth, showing yellow fangs and breath that reeks of death.
I feel something warm on my hand. Black blood spills from the monster, and it struggles to stand. It stumbles into the jungle, and although its back is turned, a face looks at me, from the rear of the Mico. I almost know it, but the leaves hide the face before I can recognize it.
Unable to stand, I take deep breaths in the mud. At my side, I see a wooden grave, carved with only a name: Leo Cruz.